


An Ecstasy of Gold

by mssrj_335



Series: FinnPoe Addams AU [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Addams Cousin Poe Dameron, Alternate Universe - Addams Family Fusion, And Finn is Weak About It, Ballroom Dancing, Dirty Dancing, Dramatic Finn, Dramatic Poe, Inspired by Music, Light Masochism, Love, Lust, M/M, POV Finn (Star Wars), Poe Dameron is Pretty, Purple Prose, Undertaker Finn, as only the Addams can, could maybe call it dark love?, def got there, just an excuse to write pretty words ok, so ridiculous lol, weird metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27097483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssrj_335/pseuds/mssrj_335
Summary: Poe is back from a trip and takes Finn on an Addams-style date. And it devolves in only the way an Addams date can.
Relationships: Finn/Poe Dameron, Finnpoe, Poe Dameron/Finn, Stormpilot - Relationship
Series: FinnPoe Addams AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1977823
Comments: 14
Kudos: 26





	An Ecstasy of Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AgrippaSpoleto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgrippaSpoleto/gifts).



> this is a bit different in tone from the last one since it's from finn's pov
> 
> certainly inspired by the following things:
> 
> [Art by AgrippaSpoleto!](https://agrippaspoleto.tumblr.com/post/632254085119229952/my-heart-is-a-haunted-house-once-youre-in-you)
> 
> [The Masochism Tango (from which some dialogue is shamelessly lifted)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OVw3zjENiCw)
> 
> [and The Ecstasy of Gold, which they're dancing to here lol](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ajM4vYCZMZk&list=PL2sTQpF-Bo9LCnxhSmMDB1jc8BTQVnyzK&index=1)
> 
> enjoy!

_Color_ …has never been part of Finn’s vernacular. Black is best. For all occasions, for all reasons. The only color he owns come as accessories, because he’s not totally devoid of aesthetic. A bloody tie. An aubergine pin. But no hue that couldn’t be found on a corpse.

This color, however, is new.

And distracting.

The sounds of the Addams’ suggested bistro around them filter in and out. There’s a featured musician tonight but Finn barely hears them. Or a clatter of dish-ware. Soft conversation. Strings and theremin play to deaf ears. Why would he listen to them when he can watch Poe after so long? His travels kept him away for a month, at least. All his focus was supplanted the second Poe returned. He contemplates such a hopeless situation, and Poe’s voice slithers back into his ear.

“—and I thought perhaps you might like to join me?”

Poe looks at him, obviously awaiting an answer. But for the death of him, he can’t recall what the question was. Because Poe Dameron…is a problem.

Or rather, the color of him in candlelight is a problem.

But the tall taper candles cast a delightful yellow light in Poe’s dark eyes, mimicking the manic fire Finn finds there. His cheeks are…flushed. A deadly bitten red. A contagion. Is it the warmth of the room? The wine? Finn hasn’t tried poison—yet—so it can’t be that. Though perhaps datura would bring that shade a little brighter. Unfamiliar heat curls in his stomach. Whatever it is, he wants more of it. It gnaws in his gut like some starved thing. A disease he so desperately wants to succumb to.

Finn blinks. Slow. Thoughtful. As if he’s been contemplating Poe’s proposal and not the hue of him.

“I’d love to.”

It doesn’t matter what Poe asked, that would be his answer if it meant joining him. He is surprised though, when Poe slides from his seat and stands at the table’s edge. He gives a small bow, offers his hand. Ah. This…is new. But Finn takes hold of his fiery grip and follows. The majority of the band has stopped playing, the lights low save for a spot on the [thereminist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ajM4vYCZMZk&list=PL2sTQpF-Bo9LCnxhSmMDB1jc8BTQVnyzK). And that accursed candlelight.

“Do you waltz?” Poe asks.

Not since his father’s funeral but, “Yes.”

“Lead? Or follow?”

Poe puts his hands up. Invitation? Perhaps surrender. Or it would be, if not for that stubborn, deplorable, delightful challenge in his eye. Finn positions him to follow, though not in the typical configuration. He takes Poe’s palm in his yes, but clamps the other hand around the back of Poe’s neck. Quite possessive, if he were to examine it closely. But the song starts. A lilting affair in minor. Haunting vocals.

“Perfect,” Poe breathes, echoing his thoughts, and they circle.

Poe follows as his shadow, knee between Finn’s thighs, steps sure. This is supposed to be a date. So mundane, but not undesired. But Poe Dameron is a problem. Every inch pressed into Finn is a death sentence. Another nail in his coffin. Perhaps he was a fool to have [fitted](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27037717) him; how was he to know Poe’s eyes would haunt him, taunt him so? Consume him with a kiss of fire?

A quick turn. He pulls, and Poe comes. The color rises in his cheeks, a curl falls loose from his slicked hair. Finn can barely breathe. He looks debauched already and Finn would absolutely go to the grave for him. What’s worse, Poe presses closer. Lips tickle at his ear. Temptation.

“I missed you. I ache for the touch of your lips, darling.” Finn dips him to escape but as soon as Poe comes back to his arms, he smirks, says, “But much more for the touch of your whip.”

Finn shivers.

“You set this ember of love aflame,” Poe murmurs. “My soul is on fire with desire.” He gasps, pulling Poe to his cheek. Sweet suffering. “At your command, subject to your heart of stone, in agony.”

Finn clenches his eyes shut as they circle again. Who’s leading? Who’s following? It’s of no consequence, he’s sure. The theremin wavers, like his resolve. If Poe says another _word_ , Finn will have him. Right here on the floor. Bloody his body as he—they—so obviously desire. The waltz has turned into its own wheel of torture. Spinning heartache, threaded with sinuous syllables. When he opens his eyes again, Poe’s waiting. Grinning like a demon.

“Your mouth—”

He plucks a rose from a table as they pass and shoves it into that mouth. Poe gasps. Suddenly he envies the rose between Poe’s teeth. Not sure if he wants to be the thorns that stick into Poe’s gums or feel them himself. But his lover’s not the only one who knows what words can do. Finn slows their pace, keeps Poe flush to him. Noses along the line of his neck. Just under the open collar of his shirt. That bloody, bitten red has started to sink from Poe’s cheeks. Down his throat to his chest. Seven hells, he’s never wanted to taste flesh more. Poe’s would undoubtedly be the sweetest.

Hm. An idea. Not something easy to do but Poe’s light on his feet and their winding trail floats. So he gives in. Sets his teeth in the column of Poe’s neck. Not hard enough to taste blood—yet—but the sharp breath it elicits is certainly a step in the right direction.

“I’m under your spell, bewitched so easily by you,” Finn says, a susurration. “By your eyes.” Poe tries to pull back and Finn tightens his grip. Step, step, spin. “You’ve cut the heart from me.” He soothes the bite he made with a kiss, poisonous in intent. “I would beg you stitch your initials through the gash.”

Poe outright groans. Several other dancers glance their way but Finn can’t find that he cares. He hadn’t before he met Poe and now, well now he would bury them if only Poe would say the word. This man colors his world in a way he never thought he’d want. They’ve stopped their dance in the middle of the floor, ignorant to all around as the theremin plays on.

“I’ve never known such lust,” Finn breathes, cupping Poe’s cheek, brushing the rose petals that lay there. “This must be what a common man kills for.” Firelight dances on in Poe’s dark, bruised eyes. “An ecstasy of gold.”

Poe’s lips hang open, the rose barely in place. But Finn cups either side of his face, kisses him hard, close-mouthed so the thorns dig into their lips. Poe’s hands scrabble at him. A desperate edge zings in his blood. And when Poe gasps free, the rose falling from his mouth, Finn doesn’t have to ask.

They leave before the next song even starts. Why wait? There’s sweet torture waiting, after all.


End file.
